


Five Golden Kisses

by Kedd



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24114301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedd/pseuds/Kedd
Summary: Five times Sam and Jack kissed. Written as part of the SJ_Everyday 2011 Advent Calendar for Day 5.
Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Carter/Jack O'Neill
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	Five Golden Kisses

**1\. Broca Divide**  
  
She’d seen him, lifting weights in the gym, his biceps bulging with the effort. She’d been able to smell his musk, a deep earthiness with a hint of spice and leather that invaded her senses and made her pulse race. When she smelt it, she wanted to fight, to run, to _live_. As he’d walked past her, she’d watched how his sweat-dampened shirt clung to his chest, his back, and she’d taken a deep breath just to let _him_ flood her senses until her body was tingling.  
  
She needed to follow him. She needed to claim him, before someone else did.  
  
She got waylaid by a marine on her way to the locker room - something told her that was where he’d be - but the solider backed down when she bared her teeth at him, letting out a low growl. She wasn’t his, and he wasn’t the one she wanted.  
  
Pushing into the steam filled room, she could just make out the narrow lines of his body, his muscles flexing beneath damp, tanned skin as he dug through the locker. She approached him, silently, never taking her eyes off of him, luxuriating in his clean scent with the faintest hint of his underlying musk. She slammed the door shut and he saw her, his eyes widening with surprise. He moved to cover himself, turning away from her. She felt a surge of heat run through her, excitement and anger. She reached for him.  
  
“I want you.”  
  
  
  
 **2\. Point of View**  
  
Her eyes were the same shade of crystal blue, but sad, sadder than his Captain’s had ever been, and he could just make out the sheen of tears threatening to fall. _‘I’m not him,’_ he wanted to say, _‘I’m not your husband.’_ But he was wearing his face, and he’d always been helpless when it came to women in tears, so when she leaned toward him, ever so slightly, asking permission, begging forgiveness, he met her. Her lips were soft, and her hair swung gently against his cheek, while her tongue gently swept against his lower lip, tentative, seeking.  
  
He was hesitant and uncertain, returning it, and not just because of the witnesses.  
  
It was the kiss of a stranger.  
  
  
  
 **3\. Window of Opportunity**  
  
Jack cleared his throat. “Look, Daniel point out that, since we’re looping the same few hours, we can do anything, without consequences. So, I was thinking, maybe you and I could...” he trailed off, his hands gesturing wildly in the air, black toque flapping aimlessly, “What I mean to say is, Carter, you’re hot.” He paused, eyes widening, “No, no, no! I mean, _yes_ , but no. I mean - shit, Carter -”  
  
A sound, somewhere between a cough, a laugh, and a clearing throat, sounded from behind him. It was a high pitched sound. A feminine sound. Jack winced, and spun around on his heels, to see the amused face of his 2IC. She was clearly trying to suppress a grin, while blushing ever so slightly. “Are you okay, sir?” she asked, eyes sparking with mischief.  
  
Jack ran his hands through his already disheveled hair, then pulled the much wrung toque back on his head. “Yeah,” he said, “Really. What’s up, Carter?”  
  
She eyed him oddly -- but whether that was because she’d heard him, or didn’t approve of his neon yellow shirt, he didn’t know. “Well, I was thinking about this looping thing -”  
  
“Major Carter to the Control Room, Major Carter to the Control Room.”  
  
She grimaced, and he waved a dismissive hand at her. He’d probably heard her thought already anyways, in one of these loops or another. She nodded and ran. Jack scooped up the papers sitting on his desk, tapping them lightly to get the edges to line up, and followed her at a more sedate pace, mind still going through what he’d say. As he stepped on the elevator, he shrugged. What the hell, he’d wing it.  
  
“Excuse me, George.”  
  
  
  
 **4\. Grace**  
  
He’s wearing the blue shirt she likes, and even if it’s not him, just a realistic figment of her imagination, it still looks really good on him. She can’t decide if it’s his forearms, his hair, or his eyes it accentuates best, and zones out for a moment debating it, although that could also possibly be due to the bump on her head. It’s hard to say, really.  
  
If he somehow isn’t a figment of her imagination, she’s gonna blame the concussion for her insubordination and her flakiness. Not that he’ll care. And not that she cares, really, tired as she is.  
  
She hates to even think it, but there’s a tiny kernel deep inside of her that’s given up. And despite his unshakeable faith -- even as a figment of her imagination -- she’s not sure she will think of something. And she’s not sure she’s ready to be honest enough to admit that, not to him, even though it’s not him, because it sounds like him, and it looks like him, and it answers her questions like him.  
  
It wouldn’t be easy. It would be far from easy. In fact, she’s not entirely sure she can do it, not entirely, he’s become such a big part of her life, and she thinks that cutting him out of it would be like cutting out part of herself, but the thing is, she thinks it might be easier that way -- like surgery, removing the part that hurts quickly, even if the healing process is painful for awhile.  
  
But maybe he’s right, maybe she is the problem. Maybe she doesn’t want the cure. If she just knew, what he felt, what it would be like if he did feel anything for her, then maybe it would be easier.  
  
She lets her head rest against the bulkhead, gazing at the familiar lines and crevices of his face, the silver of his hair. She just wished, if she was going to die out here, alone in space, that she’d been able to experience what it felt like to be held by Jack O’Neill, to be kissed by Jack O’Neill, to be loved by Jack O’Neill.  
  
“One last thing.”  
  
  
  
 **5\. Moebius, Part 2**  
  
The metal floor of the ship connected painfully with her knees as she landed. The extra shove from Jack -- the Colonel -- _Jack_ \-- had caused her to land awkwardly. Blinking over the rim of her glasses, Samantha acknowledged that it may have, however, prevented her from getting singed with all the sparks the control panels were throwing off. Then she became aware of a warm weight resting against her back, and a large hand on her shoulder. She glanced at it incredulously for a moment, before something else sparks, causing her to duck her head. “This could be a problem.”  
  
Jack’s voice sounds curiously close to her ear, “Ya think?”  
  
The bark in it causes her to respond automatically, babbling out her thoughts, “If they penetrate the hull and hit the engines, the energy blasts could feed back into the power --”  
  
“Carter!” Jack cuts her off, and the urgency in his voice slices through her explanation.  
  
“We could explode!”  
  
He barely makes eye contact with her, just enough to be sure she’s serious, and then he’s activating his radio. She listens with half an ear, staring at this man who has barely known her for a few days, who she first approached with a theory crazy enough that people have been committed for less, and who is listening to her scientific judgements and acting on them.  
  
And who thinks she’s hot.  
  
She thinks he’s hot too.  
  
“Look, if we don’t make it --” she grabs his face between her hands, and kisses him. Thoroughly, just in case he hadn’t been serious earlier, and when she pulls away, he’s staring at her, stunned. He hadn’t kissed her back.  
  
“Wait a minute!” His voice is sharp, but she thinks a bit shaken underneath. “You said you liked Daniel!” And maybe a bit angry, she concedes.  
  
She blinks, behind her glasses, wondering how she can avoid angering him further. She doesn’t like it when people are angry. “I lied. I just wanted to get to know you better. You see, usually I’m a very cautious person and I tend to think things thor--”  
  
Her explanation gets muffled against his lips, and he’s kissing her now, all rough skin, and chapped lips, and insistent tongue. And he tastes like the strong dark drink the people here make, and spice, and he’s holding her head, angling the kiss, and she can hear explosions all around them, but she’s not quite sure if it’s in the ship or her head, because... Wow.  
  
She was right. He is hot.  
  
And a _fantastic_ kisser.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Please note, photo credits belong to people who are not me - and likely members of the SJ_Everyday community, as these are images I had saved over the years from various picspams. If you recognize your cap, please, let me know so I can give credit where it's due!


End file.
